


drifting away

by Hueha



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hueha/pseuds/Hueha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two thousand years is a long time, for a human. Zeno knows it firsthand. Zeno-centric, spoilers up to chapter 104, see notes for additional warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drifting away

**Author's Note:**

> Additional squick warnings: it's not very detailed but there's a brief insinuation of rotting flesh and the like, so, uh... if that bothers you too much, skip the section that begins, "by the time spring turns..." Also, uh, this fic is sad. So. There's that.
> 
> Otherwise, thanks a lot to the-queen-is-off-duty on tumblr for being my beta! I've never had a beta before and she did a great job in helping me refine the fic. 
> 
> Title inspired by the Robin Schulz remix of Waves by Mr Probz, because the song inexplicably reminds me of Zeno.

It’s winter when Kaya dies.

It's bitter cold, and her body seems as pale as snow. He holds her hand tightly. It's not as cold as the air, but it's stiff and dry. The room smells like death, and Zeno doesn't move.

\----------

The forest they wander into is lush green and sprawling, at the height of vibrancy in the middle of summer. The sight of it brings to mind the scent of ginger, the memory of it sharply filling his nose as he inhales, and so Zeno volunteers to look for herbs. He hurriedly dashes off before Yoon can conscribe him for cooking duty.

Sure enough, he finds a small fortune's worth in a clearing and digs into the ground, feeling rich soil under his fingernails as he pulls out the root. There's something familiar in this, yes; though he doesn't know the when, or the who. He's fairly certain that the _where_ was _here_ , though. He gathers as many of the roots in his arms as he can before skipping back to the camp, avoiding trees as though he knows the path back by heart.

Yoon is, as expected, surprised and pleased by the find. He immediately takes the roots and begins washing them, chattering about how useful it will be next time they're at a market.

“I'm surprised you found it! Ginger doesn't smell very strongly when it's uncut. Did you know it was there?” Zeno watches Yoon's hands as he cuts the root, feels the sharp smell waft through the air, and gives a soft smile.

“Zeno had a feeling, that's all.”

\----------

“The dragons?”

The room is small with two beds, lit only by a candle next to the door. Zeno stands over a young girl in her bed as he pulls up the covers. Across from her is another bed, where a smaller boy snuggles into his blankets. 

The girl nods. “Granny told us about them today, but Zeno always tells stories better than her. Hyo-rin wants hear Zeno talk about them! Right, Kan?”

Her younger brother is already half-asleep under the covers. He gives a feeble “mm” as a response.

“He's saying yes!” she asserts, and Zeno chuckles.

“Alright, alright, little miss. I'll give you your story. Zeno doesn't mind.” He grabs the stool sitting by the foot of the girl’s bed and moves it to sit next to her. After letting out a soft hum, he begins.

“Once upon a time, there was a dragon in the heavens who watched the humans down below and admired them. And so, after a while, he descended himself and became human. His name was Hiryuu. He--”

“What was Hiryuu like?!” Hyo-rin asks, and Zeno blinks. “Granny just said he was a strong king.”

“Ah… Hiryuu… was very kind, you see! He loved humans a lot, and so was almost always smiling around them.” His eyes soften. “Because of this, many people wanted to follow Hiryuu. He gained power, wanting to rule his own country, so he could make it just for the people who lived there. But… even for someone that kind, there were those who came to hate him. He was captured, and was to be executed.”

Hyo-rin gasps dramatically, even though she must have already heard this from her grandma. “Even though he was so nice?”

“Yup, that's right. They were mean people,” Zeno says. She puffs her cheeks out like a squirrel.

“That's not fair! What happens next? Hiryuu gets out, right? Granny told me he did.” She looks strangely worried, and Zeno laughs and pats her head.

“His dragon brothers came down from heaven to help him. They told him that to help him escape, they would kill all the other humans. But Hiryuu told them not to. He said, he still loved humanity. So instead...”

“They gave their powers to humans!” the girl shouts happily. Her little brother groans and Zeno shushes her with a finger.

“Don't be too loud, 'kay? You don't wanna wake your brother.” The girl looks guilty and hides her mouth under her covers, still urging him to continue with her eyes. 

“But that's right. They decided they would give their powers to humans, so that those humans would protect their brother. The White Dragon gave to a human a huge claw, that could cut down anything. The Blue Dragon gave his human eyes, that could see far away. The Green Dragon gave his human a leg, that would let him soar through the sky. And the Yellow Dragon… gave his human a sturdy body, that could not be harmed. These four became the Dragon Warriors.” Zeno tells the story with a fond smile.

“They saved Hiryuu from the mean people, and vowed to serve him with their lives. From there, Hiryuu began his quest to unite the lands and make his own kingdom that he could rule justly, with the Warriors as his knights.”

The girl's eyes twinkle brightly, and he can tell she has another question she wants to ask.

“What is it, little miss?” She shyly pushes down her covers so she can speak.

“What were the warriors like?” He looks at her, surprised, before thinking a little.

“...well. Most of the legends don't say much about their personalities. What do you think they were like?”

“Eh? Oh, oh… I think… Hakuryuu had the arm, so I think he was strong! Like the soldiers that come by sometimes. They always have stern faces but once one of them gave me candy so I know they're nice too.” Zeno chuckles.

“Yes, I think that's right… Hakuryuu is stern and strong, but nice too. He can be like the soldier who gives you candy. What about Seiryuu?”

“Seiryuu… can see really far, so he's gotta be smart. I think he would have thought up a lot of plans.” Zeno's smile becomes lopsided as he conjures vague memories of carrying a body across the battlefield.

“Really? You don't think Seiryuu would be just as reckless as anybody else?”

“Of course not. Seiryuu is super smart.” Hyo-rin nods knowingly, becoming increasingly confident in her theory. It makes Zeno want to laugh harder.

“Okay. What about Ryokuryuu?”

“He can jump all over, so he's gotta be happy all the time.” Zeno blinks.

“Zeno can't follow that.”

“Jumping with the Green Dragon's power is like flying, right? Hyo-rin would love to fly, and she'd be laughing all the time if she could. So the Green Dragon is the happy one.” Well, certainly, Zeno thinks, he did grin a lot. But it was probably for a different reason than this girl is thinking.

“Okay, then. So we have the stern Hakuryuu, smart Seiryuu, and happy Ryokuryuu. What about Ouryuu?” he asks, petting her head.

“I think… Ouryuu has a body that never gets hurt, so he would be the first out on the battlefield. He would make sure no one else got hurt, and protect them!” she says happily. Zeno's hand pauses where it runs over her hair, before he sighs and continues.

“That's right,” he says softly. “Ouryuu should go first, so no one else has to be hurt. He can protect Hiryuu and the rest of them, after all. So Ouryuu is… the protecting Ouryuu. Then, the story continues with--”

“Wait, wait!” she shouts, before Zeno shushes her again, motioning to her brother. She looks guilty again before continuing in a loud whisper, “Zeno can be Ouryuu! Zeno's hair is yellow too. And Ouryuu is a nice protector, so he'd probably tell stories to kids too.”

Zeno is taken aback before he laughs a little. “Okay, then. Then Zeno will be Ouryuu. Well then, me, Hakuryuu, Seiryuu and Ryokuryuu--”

“Wait, wait, Hyo-rin wants to be Ryokuryuu, too.”

“Heh heh. That's fine. So Zeno, Hakuryuu, Seiryuu, and the little miss--”

“Wait!” she says again.

“What is it now?” he sighs. It's hard to tell a story straight with her interrupting.

“Ryokuryuu is Hyo-rin, and Ouryuu is Zeno. What are Hakuryuu and Seiryuu's names?”

Zeno looks at her in surprise, and then turns to stare at the floor. His mouth opens and closes a few times, as though he's about to say something, but nothing comes out. Hyo-rin looks at him with confusion.

“Zeno? Are you okay?” He jerks up and looks at her, eyes wide and a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

“Ah… yeah. ...um, for their names… ah. Their names… Hakuryuu is Granny. After all, they both have white hair. And then Seiryuu… is Kan. Your brother is pretty smart, after all.” She pouts.

“I don't think he's smart enough to be Seiryuu...” she grumbles. “But I guess it's okay. He's better at aiming rocks than I am, so he probably has better eyes than me anyway.” Zeno nods, his face still a little uneasy.

“So, continuing on… the four of them began fighting to protect Hiryuu. ...Ouryuu, that is… Zeno would go out to protect them first. Behind him would be Granny, fighting through the armies with her claw. The little miss would jump from above and drop in on the soldiers and kick them around while laughing.” The girl bounces in excitement. “And your brother would make plans in the back, using his amazing sight. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, yes! What happens next?”

“Hiryuu united the lands and became king. He ruled over the land fairly, and got married and had a son. There was peace throughout his kingdom. But Hiryuu had become a human, and so, like humans, he grew old and ill, and died.”

Zeno looks to the girl to find that her mouth is dropped open in horror.

“...did Granny not tell you that?” She shakes her head.

“That's not fair...” she whimpers. “He was a good king, that shouldn't happen...” He looks at her sadly.

“All things that live will one day return to heaven,” Zeno recites, patting her head. “Hiryuu was the same. ...after he died, the dragon warriors left the castle, and founded their own tribes. And that's how this country was formed.” She perks up at hearing that.

“...which tribe did Hyo-rin form?”

“This one! The Wind Tribe. Hakuryuu formed the Earth Tribe, and Seiryuu formed the Water Tribe. Or so the story goes.”

“What tribe did Zeno form? The Fire Tribe?” Zeno's eyes widen in surprise, before he gives a regretful smile.

“Ahh, Zeno didn't form any tribe,” he says. “Ouryuu… stayed behind at the castle. He never saw the others again… and he never had people surrounding him, like the others. He was… left behind, see.” He looks back at Hyo-rin and jumps when he sees that she's starting to cry.

“Nooo,” she sniffles, “Ouryuu shouldn't be alone… that's sad...” Zeno begins to panic, frantically trying to cover up what he previously said.

“Ahh, well, it's not as though he's completely alone! After all, Zeno is talking to you right now, isn't he? So… eventually… Ouryuu leaves the castle, and tells stories to little kids.” She still has tears in her eyes, which are starting to close as if she's about to fall asleep.

“But… he still was left behind… I don't like it.” She sniffs again, now scrunching up her face. “I'm making a new story.”

“A new story?”

“Mm. And in it, Ouryuu goes to visit all his friends, to Hyo-rin and Granny and Kan and all of our tribes. And then he lives happily ever after.” Zeno looks taken aback, and then smiles fondly at her.

“Well, if the miss says so.”

“Mm!” She nods quickly, and then her eyes begin to drift closed again. “No…can't sleep yet... I need to... write the... new story...”

“The little miss can do it later,” he advises. “Go to sleep for now. Zeno will… no, Ouryuu will protect you.”

Hyo-rin gives a small giggle, and slowly goes to sleep. Zeno watches her for a bit before he gets up and blows the light out, smiling back at her as he walks away.

\----------

“Give us the damn medallion.”

“Zeno… hah… thought he already did.”

The heavens are shrieking and sobbing and Zeno stands poised at the edge of a cliff, warily looking at the bandits surrounding him. Their wet faces are fixed in grimaces, swords and stolen military spears in their hands, and their ostensible leader takes another step forward.

“You did, you did, and that was smart of you,” he says, almost jovially, a nasty smile curling on his lips. “But, see, you stole it back, and that wasn't very smart of you at all.” There's dirt caked on his face that slides off with the rain, leaving a strange discolored pattern behind. If Zeno wasn't so tired he thinks he'd offer to clean it evenly. Then again, it's possible that the only reason he's thinking about washing the man's face is because he is so tired.

“I didn't,” he offers slowly, “but then again, if I had to steal it back, I wouldn't have given it to you in the first place.” If they were capable of actually stealing it, he thinks, then he would be much more willing to kill them.

“And now, lying! Just give us the medallion, kid, before you fall and hurt yourself.” The man walks closer, regripping his sword, and the rain falls in Zeno's eyes so he can't see properly.

“Well,” he says softly. “I can't give you the medallion. So I suppose I might as well give the ground my greetings.”

He doesn't see what face the bandit makes as he steps backwards.

\----------

“You're not bad at cutting vegetables,” Yoon says, “when you actually try.” Zeno laughs.

“Zeno is full of surprises, surprises!” he says enthusiastically, flexing his wrist as he moves on to the next leek. Jaeha scoffs beside him.

“You can say that again.” The green haired man slowly pulls out one of the strings of his erhu that had been broken on the road. “I'd say Zeno-kun is the most secretive of all us.” Zeno blinks in surprise.

“Secretive? Now that's just unfair. Zeno isn't secretive.” Yoon looks between both of them, as though wanting to say something, but looks down instead at the stew instead.

“Heh… then what do you call not telling us about your powers?” Jaeha steadies the erhu and begins threading the replacement string.

“That wasn't secretive. Zeno said he had a sturdy body! He just didn't give all the details.”

“Do you know what the word secretive means? ...besides, that's not the only thing. Let's not forget that bit about you being married, of all things.” Zeno snorts as he gathers up the pieces of vegetable into one pile.

“Ryokuryuu, why are you so hung up on that? It's not that strange, is it?”

“It's not that it’s strange in itself, it's just… how do I put it… the thought of Zeno-kun being married is a bit...”

“Certainly,” Yoon adds offhandedly, “it's a bit strange. What was your wife like, Zeno?”

Zeno's hands twitch as he stares a moment too long at the ground.

He suddenly remembers the scent of freshly cut flowers, fragrant and sweet, and then the permeating stench of rotting flesh. The memories rush into his head, curling into some mixture of emotions he can't name before he can stop them.

When he looks up, he doesn't know what expressions have flashed across his face, but Jaeha is looking at him with widened eyes, something like surprise or dismay reflected in the way his mouth is dropped open. Yoon, it seems, hasn't noticed, still working on the stew. Zeno pauses, and then curls his lips into a sly smile.

“Hah… so the lad is interested in what kind of person I like? Oh no, what should Zeno do, what should Zeno do...”

Yoon suddenly sits up straight, his face flushing. “I – that's not what I meant!”

Jaeha, whether forgetting about Zeno's earlier expression or playing along, now has a catlike smile as well. “Well, well, Yoon-kun… to think that you'd be interested in Zeno's type--”

“You're wrong! I wasn't even thinking about that!”

“What's going on?” Yona asks, Hak trailing behind her as he carries a couple of small pigs.

“Well, Yona-chan, it seems that Yoon has a cru--”

“I DO NOT!”

Zeno sits on the ground and laughs.

\----------

It's strange. Zeno knows his body can't feel fatigue, but he's been running for so long that he feels like he should stop anyway. His legs won't give out and he won't run out of breath, but he feels like maybe his mind will give up. He thinks he's run past the same trees several times now. Yet it seems like every time he stops, he can hear shouts and dogs barking too close for comfort.

“Monster!” he can still hear coming from behind him, as well as angry, distorted shouts. Beads of sweat run down his face as he frantically moves his legs. Even if he stops and finds somewhere to hide, the dogs will sniff him out. The tears in his clothes, clearly done by animal claws, attest to that.

It's not like he can't kill them. Surely, even if he were to stop now and turn around to face them head on, he would come out victorious. He's done more impressive things in centuries past. But these are men, however deluded, who are trying to protect their families.

He had been resting in their village when bandits had attacked, and, in the process of fighting back, had an arrow go through his heart. Of course he had recovered immediately and defeated the bandits, but the townspeople grew terrified of him. It seems they were convinced he was a bloodthirsty monster after seeing the brutal way he took down the other men.

He can't disagree that he's a monster, and so he can't blame them for their decision to hunt him down. But running like this is wearing on him, and even if it heals immediately, the arrows and slashes and bites hurt badly. If they corner him, they'll keep trying to kill him until he actually does snap.

Zeno tries to think of his options. Obviously just running around like this won't work forever. If he can find some cliff and jump off, maybe they'll stop following him. That would hurt too, of course, but at least the chase would be over. If he can get enough of a lead on them that even the dogs lose his scent, he could head into the mountains, or some other secluded area.

Just as he thinks this, he feels a sharp pain in his leg and falls forward. When he slowly raises his head and turns back, he can see an arrow embedded in his calf, and flips over so that he can pull it out. The arrowhead nicks him again as it comes out, and blood gushes out of his leg before the wound starts closing. He quickly gets up and turns to run when he hears a bark, and before he can even turn around he's been tackled to the ground.

“Over here! We have the monster!” Zeno struggles on the ground under the dog, but it's useless. It has him pinned. He angles his neck to look around until he sees two men walking towards him, eyeing him warily. At least only two of them are here. The rest must be elsewhere. Zeno smiles wearily.

“Zeno doesn't suppose you'd let him go, would you? He promises, he won't come back to the village.” His voice is dry and hoarse. He hasn't drunken anything in hours. “Please.”

“Be silent, monster,” one of the men says, and he puts his sword to Zeno's throat with frightened eyes. Maybe, Zeno thinks hopefully, they'll just behead him and then leave before he regenerates.

“Do we wait?” the same man asks his companion, who seems older than him. The older man looks down at Zeno with mistrusting eyes before he urges the dog to move back. The dog obliges and lays on Zeno's legs, and Zeno is about to try to escape when, without warning, the older man stabs his spear through Zeno's heart.

Zeno cries out in pain, his arms shaking and twitching as the spear goes through him. The older man flinches but keeps his grip on the spear firm, still not removing it.

“A blow to the heart won't be enough to kill it,” the older man says grimly. “We could keep it pinned here, but even so it may escape.” Zeno makes a choking noise, gasping for air on the ground. The old man seems disturbed by it. “If possible, I'd like to make its death as painless as we can.”

“Then…” the younger man says, renewing his grip on his sword, which still has its point on Zeno's neck. “Should I…?” The old man nods.

The younger man quickly brings up his blade to swing it back down, and then does so a second time. It takes him two tries to decapitate Zeno. He steps back, staring at his bloodstained sword, and the old man motions for the dog to move away from the body. He still does not remove his spear.

Zeno sees only black and feels nothing except an agonizing, burning sensation at the bottom of his neck. His head starts to reattach, and soon enough the pain in the rest of his body slowly returns to him, searing through his chest. He hears the men gasping in horror, and blurrily he can start to make out their terrified expressions. He tries speaking again with a still mangled throat.

“Pl… ea… se. Please… stop...” The older man looks down with a pitying look as he continues to babble. “Please… help… Ou...”

“...is there nothing we can do but keep it pinned, I wonder… is there no way to end its misery...”

“It's a monster!” the younger man babbles. “It doesn't even die when you cut its head off! We have to destroy it, somehow!”

“Please,” Zeno tries again, crying from the pain in his chest. His neck has now healed completely. “I'm not… a demon. I… I'll leave. I'll never come back. Please. Please, it hurts. I can't – I can't die. Let me go, and I'll… I'll never be back in your lifetime, or your children's. I promise.” He gasps for breath, feeling the blood from his wound spreading out beneath him.

The older man looks down at him. “I cannot trust the word of a monster. If we let you go, who knows how many will lose their lives?”

“I...” Zeno struggles to speak. His vision blurs from the tears. “I only hurt… bandits. Only if… they… attack first. I'll… leave… so… please.”

The old man stares at him a while longer before repeating slowly, “I cannot.”

Zeno’s whole body stills, his eyes wide.

Then, he snaps his teeth together.

He growls wildly before pushing himself up with his arms and swiping at the old man's feet. The man falls back, losing his grip on the spear, and Zeno quickly pulls himself up to grab it and pull it out. A loud scream escapes his mouth and his eyes squeeze shut as more blood spurts from the wound. He pants a moment and then forces his eyes open again.

For a moment, he faces his pursuers, spear in hand. As the pain burns through his chest, hatred bubbles up inside him, his hand tightening on the pole. The men’s faces come into view as the tears that blur his vision slowly dissipate.

The faces he sees... are not the faces of hunters. On the old man he sees only frozen fear; on the young man he sees blind panic. Zeno’s expression becomes stricken, and he looks down at the spear in his hand. He throws the weapon away before whipping around and sprinting straight in the other direction. He barely hears the dog pursuing him and the sound of a bow being drawn over the din of his own heart, which pumps ever faster as his body works to seal his chest.

He runs fueled by the fear of pain, and the sounds of his pursuers grow dim behind him. He runs ever forward, the wind chilling the tear tracks on his face.

He runs to the mountains.

–----------

“We're not asking you to leave,” the prince says. Zeno stops packing for a moment to look back at him.

“No,” he agrees, “but it'd be better if I did, all the same.” Yak-shi is the king, now, and Zeno knows it, but he also knows that Yak-shi is the king no more than Hiryuu is still alive. He looks back down at his pack. There's not much, but he doesn't need much, anyway. Only tools for survival, a small knife to prepare herbs and roots, flint to start fires, a small container for water. He'll need to bring a coat, as well, for when it gets cold.

“Your priestly duties--”

“--are to be inherited by my successor. Jae-yoon. You should know him, he's one of the more dedicated servants. I've given him the medallion.”

Yak-shi seems surprised, at that, and then deflates. “You don't need to worry about what they say about you. If I give the word--” Zeno shakes his head and smiles sadly, turning from his pack to put a hand on the prince's.

“I appreciate it, Your Highness Yak-shi. But like I said,” he stares at his hand, wondering at how there are no traces of gold or red left behind on it, “it's better if I leave. I'd rather not cause undue alarm.”

“It's idiotic,” Yak-shi grumbles. “Certainly, you don't look much older, but that hardly matters...”

“It's alright,” Zeno says reassuringly. “The other dragons have… already left, anyway. It's about time I did as well.” His face takes on a dark look, as though the light won't catch in his eyes at all. Yak-shi looks at him with concern, before calling to the servants in the hall and ordering for a winter coat to be brought. Zeno smiles with relief.

“Priest,” Yak-shi says, as the servants leave, “if I am to be honest, I still am left with a question of my own.” Zeno freezes before setting his shoulders into place.

“Yes, Your Highness?” he asks, steeling himself for a question he doesn't want to answer.

“It's not about… what the others are chattering about. That matters little to me. ...it's just, five years ago, when the army from the southern tribe attacked… what happened?”

Zeno remembers trudging back with torn, bloody clothes, feet heavy and still aching, even as he could no longer feel the pain. He remembers walking into a lesser known entrance to the castle, eyes dry as he had already cried all he could, voice hoarse from grief, even his mind numb and unresponsive. Not many in the castle saw him. Those who did were sworn to silence by Yak-shi, who, he remembers, only stared at him with a horrified, frightened expression.

He smiles at Yak-shi without it reaching his eyes.

“The will of the gods was done,” Zeno says softly, looking down again at his own hands. “That's all.”

\----------

By the time springs turns into summer, Kaya's body is rotted all over.

When he looks at it, it's her, and yet not at all. He sees the insects crawling around and he covers his eyes, tries to ignore them, even as he hears the buzzing. Part of him wants to throw up, but he keeps holding her hand. The room stinks of rotting meat, and Zeno doesn't move.

\----------

“Is that… Zeno?”

Yona asks that in a quiet voice, pointing at a painting on the wall of the shop they're in. Behind her, Yoon is looking through the shop's selection of books, and Shin-ah and Kija both peruse various antiques and figures. They've stopped in the village for a quick supply run, but after finishing up their business, Yoon deemed the area safe enough to look around a little. In the end, they split up to check out different shops. Most of them, save Jaeha and Hak, had flocked to this one, which is filled with an assortment of trinkets.

Zeno walks over to the painting, which looks faded enough that it could have been painted centuries ago. He crinkles his eyes to get a better look. There is a yellow-headed figure on the left side of the painting, who seems to be running from a crowd on the right side, but the paint is faded and it is hard to make out too many details.

“Certainly, it does seem to resemble Zeno...” Kija remarks, coming up behind them. “I don't suppose there would be many with hair so gold, after all.”

“Hakuryuu thinks so?” Zeno says, tilting his head. “Hm… well, Zeno can't say he's never been chased before.” The admission that he's been chased before leads to an alarmed look from Kija. “But he can't think of anything he's done that would be worthy of painting.”

“Are you all interested in that old painting?” the owner asks from across the room. “It's quite old, or so I've been told. I bought it off of a trader a few weeks ago. I figure even if no one bought it, it would be a good decoration. Supposedly it depicts a traditional story from a village down south.”

“A traditional story?” Yona asks. “What is it about?”

“Let me think… I only heard a short version from them. There was once a monster who attacked the village and stole all of their food, and so the men of the village went out to hunt it down,” he recounts, scratching his chin. “In the end they chased it to the foot of the mountains, but never caught it. If nothing else, they use it to scare the kids from going too far, I hear.”

Yoon turns a scary gaze to Zeno.

“...lad, please don't look at Zeno like that.”

“Yoon, Zeno would never do that,” Yona protests, though she looks like she's laughing a bit.

“No, he wouldn't,” Yoon agrees, shaking his head. “I just thought something like… 'ah, if it's Zeno and his appetite, maybe he went crazy from hunger…' or something like that.”

“...Ouryuu wouldn't… do that...” Shin-ah says, and Yoon and Kija both jump as if forgetting he was there.

“Yup, yup! Thank you for defending me, Seiryuu!” Zeno exclaims cheerfully, standing on his tiptoes and patting Shin-ah's head.

“Still,” Yoon says as he turns back to the shop's small selection of books, “it's somehow amazing to think that you could even be in such an old painting. Somehow, it's even weirder than the rest of this group put together… wait a second.” He stops and turns his head to Zeno quickly, his eyes sparkling faintly. “Doesn't that mean you could know any of these writers?”

“Ah… Zeno isn't too sure,” Zeno replies, grinning brightly as always. “Zeno's met a lot of people, after all.” Shin-ah seems to be looking at Zeno intently now, and Yona follows his gaze with some confusion. Yoon makes a clicking noise.

“I guess that's true… I was just wondering. Some of these authors wrote centuries ago, after all, so it's hard to find information on them now. If possible, it would be nice to fill in some of those gaps. Some of the old stories, too, like the one that painting depicts… parts of those get lost over time, too. Ah,” Yoon says suddenly, “the legend of the dragons is the same, isn't it? If we have time, maybe we could try writing a new version, using Zeno's account...”

Zeno faces Yoon with a smile, but after a moment looks down. As he turns to face the ground, his eyes become filled with regret and his smile becomes twisted and bitter, as if he's laughing at himself. Neither Yona nor Shin-ah can see his expression, but Kija, standing in front of him, stares with a dismayed face. Yoon is looking away, still chattering, and Zeno turns his face up with a bright smile as he tries to think of how to respond.

“...I can't seem to find any books here, but if I find another version, we could use that as a reference… eh?”

Shin-ah steps in front of Zeno and shakes his head. Yoon blinks in surprise.

“Shin-ah…?”

“...you shouldn't...” Shin-ah shakes his head again. Yoon looks confused, and Yona hurriedly moves over to him.

“Yoon, I think Shin-ah wants to play with Zeno for a bit, so let's leave them.”

“Is that so…?” Yoon asks, still tilting his head.

“I... believe the Princess is right,” Kija says. He glances briefly at Zeno, looking uneasy, before turning back to Yoon, whose eyebrows are crinkled.

“Yoon, are there any books you wanted to get?” Yona asks.

“Oh, yeah, here.” Distracted, Yoon starts to look back through the selection, and Yona nods to Shin-ah, who turns around to look at Zeno intently. Zeno smiles.

“...thank you, Seiryuu. You didn't need to do that. You're really a good kid,” he says, and hugs Shin-ah.

“Ouryuu is… okay?” Shin-ah asks quietly.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Seiryuu doesn't need to worry,” Zeno says, smiling warmly.

“Mm,” is the only response he hears as Shin-ah awkwardly pats his back, and he laughs.

\----------

He's living in a small cabin in the mountains, mostly unadorned and rundown, when Seiryuu comes to visit him.

“O-Ouryuu?” he hears, uncertain, and he turns slowly. Seiryuu looks… different, now. His body is more muscular, taller. There is no bird flitting around him. His eyes, though, are still covered. There are others with him, crowding around anxiously in the dim candlelight.

“Seiryuu,” he says, happily, and it feels like a dream. “It's been a while. Why are you here?” It's hard to tell, with his eyes hidden, but Seiryuu looks… confused, and he walks forward, signaling for his attendants to stand back.

“Ah… Ouryuu,” Seiryuu says again, “I… I have come to ask you for a favor. No. To entreat you. Please, I beg you...”

“No need for such formality,” he replies. “Speak as freely, or as sharply, as you normally would.” Seiryuu tilts his head up again, expression practically unreadable without the emotions in his eyes.

“You are… no,” he stops, shaking his head. “Ouryuu, I… have a wife. Back in my village. She is… she is very ill.” The words seem to stir something within him, something familiar, and he wonders if he’s forgotten something. “Ouryuu… according to the legend, you have a stout body. I had heard a legend that… if one consumes the scale of the Ouryuu, one can have a prolonged life.”

“...hm… I've never tried it. I don't know if it's true.”

“...yes. I understand. I myself was doubtful, but… there are… no other options left. Please, Ouryuu… can you aid me? I beg you, please help. Please… please, save Nari!”

Zeno stops, his body freezing in place as his mind seems to swirl around him. Of course.

He is not at the castle anymore. 

This is not the Seiryuu he knows. 

Ouryuu has been asked, before, to save a dragon warrior's wife.

Seiryuu, as well as the others with him, are bowed, face down on the ground before him.

“I do not care what price I have to pay… even if… you were to tell me to be your slave for the rest of my life. Ouryuu… please, save Nari...”

Zeno shudders, the words resounding inside him like twisted, distorted echoes. He clenches his fists, the nails digging into his palms painfully. He breathes in sharply.

...it's useless. It's surely useless. But… even if he holds the same name Ouryuu, he refuses to make the same decision. He at least won't let these pleas go unanswered. He exhales, his whole body seeming to shrink.

“Zeno will give you the scales,” he says, “free of charge. Get up from the ground.” Seiryuu turns up to face him in surprise, tears streaming down his face.

“I… I give my thanks to you, Ouryuu… truly… thank you, so much...” His voice chokes, and Zeno smiles at him sadly.

“No need for crying, now!” he says brightly. “More importantly: do you have a sword?”

\----------

He works for some time as a traveling performer, dancing and juggling in villages and larger cities alike. If he entertains, people are more likely to give him a bit to eat, and it's a good way to get information. He's learned about underground passages in the back streets of cities, the political leanings of the newest king, and, most importantly, which places could use a bit of cheer.

Tonight, he juggles jovially in a port city of the Wind Tribe, the whole pub applauding as he finishes his routine and some older fishermen offering to buy him dinner. After sitting and talking with him a while, they go back to chat with others about their trade and business. Zeno sits and listens for any strange rumors, or whispers of change or revolution.

It's crowded in the pub, and so it's not much of a surprise when someone asks if they can sit at his table. Zeno nods and moves his plate a little closer to himself to make room.

“Thanks,” the woman says, nodding. Her face is stern, and she smells like salt, though there's still a feeling of grace emanating from her. She's brought with her a bottle of sake and two cups to drink with.

“Wasn't able to see most of your show,” she says, “but I caught the end. You don't find many people who can lighten up the room like that.” She pours a cup of sake and pushes it towards him, before pouring one for herself.

“Ah, I don't really...” he starts, before she glares at him.

“It's in bad taste to drink sake alone in a place with so many people. Drink with me.” Zeno blinks and shrugs before taking a sip. It burns, going down, but it fades quickly enough. It doesn't taste bad, though. The woman nods approvingly before downing her own cup.

“Miss doesn't look like a soldier,” Zeno says as he looks at her, “so she must work a merchant ship, then? Where from?”

She looks surprised at his assertion, before she shoots him a wry smile. Zeno continues eating.

“Right. Well, we just came from Xing. You can get food for pretty cheap, and some nice clothes, too. Figure we'll sell some of the nicer stuff here, and then, well, sell the cheaper stuff in the Fire Tribe.” She takes another sip of sake. “Heavens know they need it.”

He tries to remember if anything is going on with the Fire Tribe at the moment. It's likely another drought; it feels like every time he asks, the Fire Tribe is having another.

“But here I thought dancers were just pretty faces,” the woman is saying. “Most people assume I'm a local sailor's wife, or something like that. Gets damn annoying. And yet you knew I was a sailor.”

“Miss smells like the sea,” Zeno says by way of explanation, pushing his cleared plate to the side. “And she just feels like a sailor, that's all. Zeno has seen enough to know.” She quirks an eyebrow at him, pausing as she goes to refill his cup.

“How old are you again? You've got an awfully strange way of speaking for an adult.”

“Zeno is seventeen, miss.” She nods and goes to fill up his cup.

“Old enough,” she replies, pushing the drink towards him again. He bows his head in thanks and sips at it. Her eyes are still trained on him.

“Where're you from?” she asks, and he takes the opportunity to finish the cup, taking time to come up with an answer. In the end, though, he just answers honestly.

“I don't know,” he says. She narrows her eyes disapprovingly.

“You've gotta have a place to call home,” she reprimands. “Every sailor who's worth his salt does. Even if he barely ever returns there, or even if it ain't where he's born. As long as you've got a place to go back to, it doesn't matter how long you're at sea. You've got your compass.” She frowns. “You don't have a home, you get lost.”

Zeno looks down at his empty cup of sake, and says nothing.

“Somewhere,” she insists. “Somewhere you feel comfortable, or a place that feels nostalgic.”

He thinks of a small, rundown shack that was once filled with laughter and flowers, that was so weathered by the elements that it looked close to falling down.

He thinks of Hiryuu Castle, familiar halls, warm corridors, and the intimate sensation of loss, the void of people who are no longer there.

He thinks, in the back of his mind, of a warm, small house, too fuzzy in his memories to recall anything but sunlight and a feeling of comfort, the voices of the gods echoing cheerfully in his head.

“No,” he says with a deflecting smile. “I can't think of any.”

She looks at him and wordlessly pours him another glass of sake.

“My home,” she says, “my heart is in Awa. It's a port city, in the Earth Tribe. There are cliffs next to the town, and from them, you can see the sea for miles.” She sounds distant, her mind already where her heart is. “At sunset, the whole sky and sea seem to become one, as if there's a fire burning on the horizon. I used to want to chase it, y'know, see what was out there. That's why I became a sailor in the first place.” She's smiling fondly now. “And I'll always return there.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Zeno says, and imagines red clouds tying together the sky and sea, like a dragon curled around the horizon line. “Zeno thinks he can understand why it's so dear to you.” She looks at him.

“You should come by, when you can,” she offers with a smile. “See the view for yourself. Awa would surely welcome you.” It could be your home, she leaves unspoken. 

It couldn’t, he thinks, but the sentiment is nice regardless.

“Heheh!” he laughs. “I'll see if I can make it.” She fills up his cup and her own again, and holds it up for a toast.

“And when you do,” she says, “ask around for Gigan. If I'm there, we can drink together again.”

He chuckles and nods, and they bring their glasses together with a clink.

\----------

He comes down from the mountains largely because he doesn't quite remember why he went there in the first place. When he arrives at the nearest village he finds not much has changed but the fashion – there are more blues than he remembers, and he wonders if there's a new plant dye that's made it more common. But these lands, he thinks, always seem unchanging. As though they wait for something, or someone, to change them.

As he walks through town, he sees that a group of entertainers has set up shop, and he sits down with the other villagers to watch them. The group is centered around a large wooden cart that carries their costumes and supplies, and he watches as the show begins. The villagers begin clapping as a dark haired dancer takes the stage, a man with a flute playing on the side. Another girl begins to sing jovially.

_“Long, long ago, a bright red sun was eaten, and the world was dyed black...”_

The song is nostalgic, and he sings along softly.

The show continues with the girls doing backflips and other amazing moves, and he laughs as the man playing the flute from earlier grabs colored bags and begins juggling five of them in the air. Time seems to fly as the sky darkens, fires casting orange light through the darkness, and the show ends.

“That was amazing!” he says, approaching the man eating a meal after the show. “Your juggling act, that is. It's really great how many you can do at once!” The large man laughs, setting down his cup of sake.

“If you'd like, I can show you!” he says. “Here, start with one… ah, no, you've already dropped it!”

“Ahh, sorry, sorry. Here it is,” is what comes out before he trips, dropping the ball with it. The man laughs.

“You're quite clumsy, kid. What's your name?”

He blinks as he looks up from the ground.

“Ah, my name...”

There's… nothing…? ...no, his name is… he must have a name, mustn't he...

“Kid, are you alright? You didn’t look like you hit your head...”

...kid…? Someone told him once… if you talk like a kid… but who told him that? Someone talking, in a childlike way...

“Zeno's name?” he says, suddenly. “Ah, sorry, Zeno couldn't think of it for a second.” The man is stunned a moment, and then laughs uproariously.

“A fake name, at this age!” he exclaims. “Well, I won't ask what exciting life you've led that you feel the need to use a fake name already. Here, I'll teach you a little more...”

Zeno doesn't bother trying to convince him that it's his real name. He concentrates instead on learning how to juggle, and ends the night able to juggle two balls.

Though he still wonders who told him to try speaking like a kid.

\----------

Zeno swirls around, his eyes wide in panic. The medallion's always come back before. Even if he lost it, it would always reappear around his neck, or in his hand when he was sleeping. But he can't find it, now, and it's been a couple hours since he lost it. It'll be evening, soon, and even harder to look, assuming it doesn't come back to him. His palms are sweating, and he jerks his head around again, scanning the dark forest floor.

“Where is it, I wonder,” he says, trying to sound lighthearted, but he can't fool himself. The thought of losing it for good is terrifying. He remembers a voice hazily, saying something about it being proof that he wasn't alone. It hurts that even that memory seems faded, but it's all he has now. He stumbles through the forest and his eyes are bleary, barely even able to tell the plants apart.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, no...” His breathing is quickened and he leans on a tree for support, tears already falling from his eyes. He remembers his king giving him the medallion. His king, dying on a sickbed, face gaunt and pale. His brothers, jealous of the gift. His brothers, leaving the castle, slowly fading into the distance, and then years later, growing older, fading from his senses until there was nothing left.

He grabs at his chest, wanting to feel the engravings on the medallion to ground him, but they're not there. He gasps for air, trembling, clenching his fists and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Please,” he whispers, “I can't lose it, too.” 

Slowly beginning to walk, he lifts his head up, and to his surprise, sees a patch of golden sunlight drifting through the trees. When he walks closer, he sees it, glinting brightly on the ground, and begins to dash towards it, making a pathetic noise. He slowly comes to a stop and leans down before grasping the item tightly in his hand.

It's the same medallion, the same ridges and scratches. He breathes a sigh of relief and clutches it to his chest, sitting on his knees for several minutes as he calms his panting. Finally, he opens his eyes and looks up. He's in a patch of golden sunlight, the brightest one in sight. It's overly conspicuous. Most people would probably look at it as a coincidence, or perhaps a sign of good luck. But the more Zeno thinks about it, the tighter he holds the medallion.

“Is this supposed to be a mercy?” he asks slowly. There is no one around to hear him. He grits his teeth as he feels his emotions build.

“Or is it an apology? Paying your reparations? You've never done so before,” he spits. “Am I supposed to be grateful, I wonder. Am I supposed to love and adore you, as I did before? To listen for your voice in the night?” His face is fixed in rage, his hands trembling in anger.

“Am I supposed to believe in you? Am I supposed to forgive you?!” he shouts, his words becoming louder and full of venom the longer he speaks. “I've wandered centuries with no word from you. I've died, felt the pain of hunger and drowning and bleeding to death and seeing others do the same, more times than I can count! And I had nothing, except for this!” He presses the medallion closer to his chest. 

“Am I supposed to forget about your abandonment?! Your damned silence?! Is that supposed to fade from my memories, too?!” His eyes press shut as his voice fills with grief.

“Will I just forget everything?”

The only response he hears is the wind, and his own voice echoed back, saying: “forget everything.” He shudders, feeling cold despite the sunlight as he hangs his head. The medallion is pressed against his chest, held with both hands together now. He almost looks like he's praying.

“Will you still not say a word to me?” he whispers.

No answer.

\----------

The fire is down to mere embers by the time Zeno gets back from gazing at the moon. Most of the camp is asleep by now, but Yoon still sits on a log next to the remains of the fire, watching the dim red glow. When Zeno approaches, he looks up in surprise, opening his mouth as if to speak. A moment later, he closes it again. Zeno chuckles.

“You're up late, lad,” he says, sitting next to Yoon on the log. “Were you waiting for Zeno to get back?”

“Ahh… yeah, sort of. I...” Yoon looks back at the fire. Zeno is surprised; Yoon's normally so self-assured in his words, so it's strange that he's being so hesitant.

“The other day, at the shop,” Yoon starts, and Zeno's face is serious as he looks at Yoon carefully. “I didn't… I wasn't thinking about what I saying, and I didn't realize… I just… got excited, I guess, but… um...”

“The lad doesn't have to apologize,” Zeno says, giving a small smile.

“No… I think I do. But I – I need to ask something, before I do, because… I thought about it. And if I don't ask… I won't know what I'm apologizing for. But I…” Yoon looks at Zeno out of the corner of his eye, but still seems too nervous to look at him head on. “I don't know if I _should_ ask.”

Zeno goes very quiet. He turns his head to look at the embers. They still burn a faint red that reflects in his eyes. He stares at the ground, which is painted with the shadows of trees in the moonlight. The silhouettes tremble with a gust of wind, and he listens to the rustling leaves as his medallion lifts slightly off his chest. 

“The lad can ask whatever he wants to,” Zeno says. “I'll answer honestly.”

Yoon turns to face him, his eyes shimmering. Zeno is still staring at the ground, his face dark, only illuminated by moonlight and what little glow remains from the embers. There's a sad smile on his face, and Yoon swallows. He thinks for a minute before asking.

“...what… was your wife like?”

Zeno props his leg up on the log so he can lean his chin on his knee, and after a short silence, speaks haltingly.

“She was… bright. Like sunlight. I was… lost, and she gave me new hope to live on.” He pauses. “She was beautiful, too. But of course I'd think she was beautiful. She was my wife. I remember… being happy with her. Smiling a lot.” His face seems to soften while thinking about it.

“I remember… flowers. I remember putting a flower in her hair, and… she smiled at me. That's right. It wasn't just me. We were both happy. And… she was always cheerful. Her cheerfulness was passed on to me. I think I...” He narrows his eyes, as if concentrating on something. 

“I think there's a lot that I gained from her. A lot of happiness, a lot of optimism. A lot of other things, too, that I don't remember. It felt like… things would be alright, when I was with her.” Yoon gazes at him wordlessly. Zeno's face becomes darker, and his eyes seem hollow.

“I remember the smell of blood. She was… sick, I think. When I met her. I knew… she didn't have long. It's probably because of that that she was able to reach me, as I was. After all, if she could be cheerful, even though she was in pain… so could I.” His fist twists the fabric of his robe. 

“...I remember, sitting next to her as she lay in bed. I think… I promised her, that we would meet again in heaven. And I sat with her, even after… she was gone.” His smile becomes bitter. 

“...and that's it. That's… all I can remember.”

Yoon's eyes are bright.

“Whether or not she was a good cook, or what her favorite color was… her face, her voice… even her name. I don't remember.” Zeno breathes in sharply. “Sometimes, I dream about her. And I wake up with her name on the tip of my tongue. But when I'm fully awake… it vanishes. All the details in my memories just fade away.” He scrunches his eyes shut.

“...somehow, it doesn't seem fair. After all, she gave me so much, and yet… I can't even remember her name.”

Yoon's voice trembles as he slowly speaks.

“...the other dragons… the… originals...” 

Zeno turns to him. He’s smiling, but his eyes look heartbroken, shining in the moonlight.

“...the lad is smart.” He turns away, back towards the fire. 

“...that’s right. I don't… remember their names, either. Or their faces.” Zeno's smile is still pained, mocking, like he's laughing at himself. 

“Even though… we were like brothers. Even with how much I regretted, from back then… regretting that I couldn't be with them, regretting that I didn't go see them… even so, I can't remember them. It's all… fuzzy, faded around the edges. There are still bits and pieces, but… not the full story.” His expression becomes a little strained. 

“...that's why… I'm sorry, lad. Your idea wasn't a bad one. It's just… I don't think… I could write my account of back then.”

Zeno is turning to face Yoon when suddenly Yoon is hugging him. He sits surprised for a moment, until he feels his shoulder becoming wet.

“..rry...” Yoon gets out, his shoulders shaking. “I'm so sorry...” Zeno wraps his arms around Yoon, as well.

“...like before… the lad doesn't need to apologize. It's just that… Zeno's memory isn't very good, is all.” Yoon lets out another loud sob, tightening his hold on Zeno.

“...I'm… an idiot. I'm sorry I didn't… realize sooner...”

“...it's not the lad's fault. He doesn't need to cry for Zeno, either.” Zeno pets his hair.

“It's…” He sniffs. “I'm crying because… I'm an idiot. And because it's… it's not fair. It just… isn't fair at all.” Somehow, to hear even the lad say it… makes Zeno want to cry, or laugh. Or both.

“...I, ...Zeno doesn't think that humans were meant to live so long,” he tries. “People forget things from one year ago, or even shorter amounts of time. So… for Zeno, who's lived much longer… it's only natural that he'd forget some things. ...no matter how important those things are. No matter… how important those people are.” Yoon sucks in a sharp breath and goes quiet for a moment.

“...if I ever see Ouryuu,” he mumbles, “I'll fight him.”

Zeno blinks in surprise, and then bursts out into a short laugh.

“The lad doesn't have to go that far,” he says, still chuckling. “Fighting a dragon would be… well, a stupid idea. Zeno is a bit surprised the lad said that.”

“I know it’s stupid,” Yoon says huffily, before his voice softens. “But… even we… even with us, you...” He goes silent, as if stopping himself from saying anymore. Zeno sighs.

“...it's… okay. ...it's painful to not remember everything. It…” Zeno trails off, his voice heavy. “It’s hard. But Zeno figures… it's better than never having met anyone at all. And…” Zeno's fingers find Yoon's feather ornament and play with it. 

“Even if Zeno forgets their names, he can remember what they did, and what they gave him. For instance,” he adds grinning, “Zeno's sure he'll remember the nice lad who cried for him… and who made him delicious food, and did the laundry, and bossed everyone around--” Yoon's head shoots up to glare at Zeno, his eyes still watery.

“Shut up,” he says, but he at least seems comforted a little.

They stay up for a little while longer, still hugging at Zeno's insistence. Yoon doesn’t protest, sniffling into the blond’s shoulder, and Zeno smiles fondly and pets his head. Eventually, Zeno insists that Yoon go to bed so they'll be ready to journey again tomorrow. As he lets go of Zeno, Yoon's eyes and cheeks are still red, but he nods and heads back to his tent with one last look back. 

Zeno quietly climbs back into his own tent, and lets out a small yelp when he stumbles and falls on top of Hak.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, and it's then that he sees that Hak is fully awake.

“...don't bother moving around too much and waking everybody else up. I can be your damn pillow for tonight.” Zeno stares in surprise for a moment.

“...mister, how long have you been awake?”

“Don't worry about it,” Hak responds blithely. Zeno shrugs and curls up next to him, still staring a little. Hak sighs.

“I told you before, you guys can't be replaced. In other words… you guys are important too. ...so, I'm fine with being a pillow or whatever, once in a while. If it helps.” He seems to stumble over his words, and his face looks somewhat awkward. Zeno beams at him.

“Thanks, mister.” Hak doesn't respond, having already closed his eyes to continue sleep.

Zeno drifts off curled up next to him, with a warm smile on his face.

\----------

By the next spring, her body is just bone.

Zeno looks back up and stares at the corpse. There is no trace left of her there. His heart is still heavy with grief as he lets go of her hand and places his fingers instead around the medallion. He looks around and can hear the wind whistle through the trees, animals rushing through the grass, and the birds tweeting on their branches. The tear tracks on his cheeks are cold, and he can see buds through the holes in the house's wall. The room doesn't smell anything like her, anymore.

The room smells like freshly blooming flowers, and Zeno slowly stands up.


End file.
